st(ranger) danger

st(ranger) danger



skts // nsfw // locker room sex Atsumu steals everyone's clothes and it's ruined Kiyoomi's life. --- This is the fifth water bottle Kiyoomi's crushed this week. "Easy there, Omi!" Atsumu says, like he's not the cause of Kiyoomi's frustration.

"Thanks, Miya," he replies icily, before grabbing another one. They're the only two left in the weight-room; Kiyoomi's at the tail end of his workout but Atsumu's just started, and it's finally clicked in his head why Atsumu's shirt doesn't fit him.

It hangs loose on his body, and when he turns Kiyoomi recognizes the logo - Motoya's D2 team, a well-worn gift - and the shirt as one that's been missing from his closet for weeks. Atsumu loves stealing everyone's clothes. It's something he used to do with Osamu.

He claims it's 'good team bonding' but he whined for hours when Bokuto borrowed his sweatpants, so he's just a selfish jerk. That doesn't surprise anyone. It's common to see Atsumu in Inunaki's shorts or Meian's jackets, Bokuto's massive sweatshirts and Hinata's cute headbands.

But even though it's common for Atsumu to steal Kiyoomi's shirts, it makes him lose his mind. Kiyoomi's just a little bit broader that he can always tell, and the realization always turns his brain to mush. He drops whatever he's holding or crushes his water bottle.

Everyone's noticed. /Hinata's/ noticed, which is how Kiyoomi knows he's being particularly stupid. "See something ya like?" Atsumu asks, breaking into Kiyoomi's thoughts. He's been stalled in his workout since Atsumu walked in and it clicked. It's been at least five minutes +

of him staring at Atsumu in the wide mirror, watching the happy looking duck on his chest bounce as he does chest curls. Kiyoomi gulps. "Yes," he says, and it comes out huskier than he means to.

There's a deranged little part of him that hates that Atsumu steals anyone else's clothes, that wishes he could wrap Atsumu up in his shirts and sweatpants forever and watch him parade around with Kiyoomi's number on his back, and that thought sends a shiver down his spine.

"Oh yeah?" Atsumu pauses his rep, holding the weight aloft. Like he doesn't want to risk committing yet. "Are ya gonna do something about it?" Maybe he should. "Something other than crushing your water bottles, I mean?" Is he really that obvious?

He moves to stand behind Atsumu. There's adrenaline in his veins, sweat soaking his shirt. Atsumu's still holding the weight. "Put it down," Kiyoomi says, low and growly. "And why do ya want me to do that?" Atsumu's a menace.

"Because you look so good in my clothes, Atsumu," Kiyoomi wraps his arm around him, toying with the hem of it, boxing him in from behind. This close he can smell Atsumu's body wash and his fancy shampoo, the sweat from his cardio in another room, and Kiyoomi's fancy detergent.

"Because you've been driving me wild and I think you know it." His chin his tucked into the divot of Atsumu's neck so his words ghost over his collarbone, but his eyes are glued to Atsumu's face. The way he smiles. "Put it down," he demands. Atsumu drops the weight.

It lands with a soft clatter on the pad and Kiyoomi lets his other arm come around him, touching his chest and his torso through his shirt, watching Atsumu's grin crack and shatter in the mirror. "You're the only one who acts like this, y'know?" Atsumu says.

"If you can talk, I'm not working hard enough," Kiyoomi mutters, licking a stripe up his neck and biting the tip of his ear. "Better work harder, Omi-omi." But Atsumu still gasps when Kiyoomi's fingers dip into the hem of his shorts, which are - thankfully - Atsumu's own.

"Everyone else just gives me stuff, now. But I've always gotta sneak into your room to get your clothes." Kiyoomi's hand stills. He ignores Atsumu's whine, because the thought of Atsumu in his room, carefully digging through his closet, looking for the perfect shirt, makes him-

If it were anyone else, he'd feel itchy and unsettled and gross. But because it's Atsumu doing it, it goes right to his cock instead. It presses against Atsumu's ass. "Hey there, little Omi," Atsumu says, because he's an idiot.

Kiyoomi shoves his hand down his shorts, gripping his cock through his underwear, just to shut him up. "Guess you're right," Kiyoomi says, before sliding inside, pumping his hand around Atsumu's cock, just this side of dry that makes Atsumu's eyes flutter.

"R-right about what," Atsumu's stomach tightens as Kiyoomi plays with his head, precum and all, and he watches the careful rise and fall of his chest in /his shirt./ "I'm not working hard enough."

Kiyoomi rucks up Atsumu's shirt, revealing his abs and heaving chest, eyes still locked on him through the mirror, while he pumps his cock. Feeling Atsumu strain and writhe against him, in a shirt he's sweated and lived and fucked in, drives him wild.

The sweet whines he draws out of Atsumu while he cups his chest and plays with his nipples sound like music to his ears. Part of him wants to suck them down, see if he tastes as sweet as he sounds.

But his eyes are still locked into Atsumu's form in the mirror, Kiyoomi behind him with his chest down to his cock open bare in the weight room. Anyone could walk in on them like this, with Kiyoomi sucking a hickey into his neck while playing Atsumu like a fiddle.

With both arms wrapped across his body, pale against a sun-kissed tan, he looks lewd, especially with his necked craned up, biting his lips to hold back a yell when Kiyoomi twists his tricky little wrists just so.

"You look good like this," Kiyoomi says. "Like you're mine." "I could be yours." Atsumu's straining against his grip like he's on the edge of orgasm and rutting into Kiyoomi's hand, digging his sneakers into the padded floor. "If you want."

Kiyoomi /wants./ Wants Atsumu wrapped in his clothes, his things, and wants Atsumu in nothing at all so he can pull orgasm after orgasm from his body and stare down the line of his lean frame the whole time. Keep him in his bed all night and wrap an arm around him all day.

He pumps him furiously now, faster and harder, and when Atsumu finally comes Kiyoomi shoves his fingers in his mouth to stifle the scream. His cock spurts cum into his hand because Kiyoomi's at least kind enough to not get the mirror dirty.

He's not kind enough to not rub the worst of the mess off onto Atsumu's underwear though. When Atsumu come down from his high, he notices that Kiyoomi's still hard. "Wanna hand?" He leers, and Kiyoomi startles. He hadn't even realized he didn't come.

Atsumu's just getting down on his knees when there's a knock at the door. Three gentle raps. "Uh, guys?" Bokuto pokes his head in, hand over his eyes. "Can I do my squats now? Please?" Kiyoomi blinks. Atsumu starts laughing. "C'mon, Omi. We can finish our workout elsewhere." Fin.

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